B L A S P H E M Y

“The ones leading the crowd scare me a little bit,” she thought to herself while walking down the aisle to receive communion.

Walking back to the pew, she kneeled to make the sign of the cross before returning to her prayer position.

“What gives him the right to pray over, break and distribute the body? I mean I get the text and how it came to be decided, but does this mean there’s some “How to earn an A-Level Love position in the kingdom” memo we’re not privy to? They say we’re equal, but clearly all of us are not the other so why the separation? What if I’m jonesing for Jesus and want the whole box of crackers or the entire bottle of wine for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Does that make me a Jesus glutton, an addict of the Lord? If not, who said once a week is good and three times a day is bad? Better yet, who said once a year is acceptable? I smell bullshit,” she thought before standing as the priest began his next prayer.

“It feels like we’re at a McDonald’s drive-thru and everyone has to order nuggets. What if they run out of nuggets, and why is the special sauce locked in a cabinet and only for baptisms? What if I want to take a bath with it? Would I go to hell if I whipped out some almond butter and let it sit on my tongue to welcome him or would they withhold him from me? My God, what if I were pregnant with morning sickness and spewed him in the toilet? Is that a confessional worthy experience?” she wondered.

“Oh, I love this song! I’d love to see them change it up, maybe add some tap dancers,” she thought while glancing over at the children’s room. The mom’s and dad’s looked so stern as their babies had tantrums and threw bibles in the pews behind them in their soundproof room away from the ‘childless’ crowd, reminding her of the witness rooms kept for executions. “Surely Jesus would lock the parents and their unruly children underground during his sermon on the mount,” she giggled to herself.

“Here comes the good part,” she thought excitedly. “We get to sing together, hold hands and then hug, well, maybe just shake hands or um, well, maybe just politely wave and smile. Course there’s always that awkward moment you reach out, and the person pretends they don’t see you, course it could be that you coughed in their head continuously for thirty minutes straight and they just don’t want to get sick, or, it could be that you skipped the unruly kid room and your toddler has been poking them in the butt for fifteen minutes. Yep, that’s the ticket. I feel the love now. Okay. Enough of that,” she thought while watching people leave like a bat out of hell to avoid the parking lot scramble.

Sister Mary said it was super rude to arrive at mass late and even more offensive to leave before the last song finished, but nine times out of ten she could swear it was only she and Sister Mary still standing there as the holy water dried from the foreheads of those halfway home.

“Guess we’ll do this again next week,” she thought to herself while clapping and walking out the door to buy a Jesus chasing donut. There was no way his body was not still in her, and between her purchase and the congregations, she wondered if the trinity had diabetes.

The only thing she was sure of when she got home that evening was that the blood of Jesus had to be sweeter than sugar itself.

Let no one who believes you are unable to hear God as succinctly as them bear the sorrow of your confessions. There are two stories told when man reveres God yet separates His people.